Life's Little Intimacies
by SyrupylikeBreakfastinMontag
Summary: It's funny how similar anger and passion are.  Maybe that's why this happened.  Maybe we just got lost on the way to anger and ended up here. HP/DM DM/HP Harry/Draco, Draco/Harry.  contains slash.


Life's Little Intimacies

*Author's Note: Hey there! This is told in first person from Harry's point of view, and the second person, "you" is Draco. Enjoy!*

We don't kiss. That would be too intimate, too much like having a connection. So long as it's just bodies, writhing and slick, gasping moans, not emotions or caring or love it's all ok. It's ok to be here running my tongue up the ridges of your spine until you shudder under my lips, shivering with anticipation and raw want.

Through the blur of hot tongues and warm flesh, I try to remember how we got here, how furious arguments and petty name calling had become nipping teeth and a tangle of limbs. It had started with that cocky smirk of yours. It always does. You flash me that self-satisfied smirk, spit out some unoriginal insult, and no matter how stupid what you say is, when I see the corners of your lips twitch up in that malicious grin, all I wanna do is jump you and punch that look right off your pale features.

It's funny how similar anger and passion are, how close wanting to fuck you up and wanting to fuck you are. Maybe that's why this happened. Maybe we just got confused, got lost on the way to angry and ended up somewhere in the territory of groping hands and whispered cries for more.

I always used to use you to vent, to take out all my anger about the stupid and numerous problems surrounding me. Without you, all my frustration would just swirl around in my head until I couldn't take it anymore, until I had to snap and shatter under the pressure. But with you, I could let it out, use bitter comment after bitter comment to release the tension. With you, I could pretend the biggest worries in my life were your dumb insults and conceited smirk. Our feud, our anger was my distraction, my release.

But now we've gone off track, taken confused and stumbling steps away from that refreshing anger, and into this muddled place of lust. And now that we're here, I don't know how to go back. I don't even know how to look at you. I can run sloppy kisses along your collarbone, rub my palm shamelessly over your most private of places, but I can't meet your eyes, can't acknowledge this is you, this is us.

What does this mean? How will this affect me, affect us? Us. Even that little word is something new and terrifying. There never used to be an us. It was just you and me. But with my pelvis rocking desperately against your bucking hips and my hot breath ghosting over the sweaty skin of your neck, we are definitely an us.

I wonder what you're thinking, if you're as confused and lost as me, and, for an instant, I have the courage to look at you. Our eyes meet and suddenly you gasp under me, your eyes slip shut, and the world goes black 'cause my eyes are closed too. Then we're spasming and it's bliss and I can't think or worry or care about anything. But what goes up must come down and all too soon my orgasm is over, leaving me with the sticky and harsh reality of what just happened.

We lie there frozen, as if, if we never move, this will all go away, fade back into some distant regions of our brains where we'll never have to face it. I look at you, and see that you're frowning up calculatingly at me. It's a look you've never given me before, and suddenly I'm terrified. Despite myself, a knot tightens in my throat and my eyes are blurry with shameful and scared tears.

I have messed up the one constant thing in my life, the one thing I could count on, that was simple and straight forward and safe. I have lost my only way to release the tension, the overwhelming frustration.

"You know, I always used to be jealous of you." My eyes widen in surprise and a tear falls down to mingle with our combined semen on your chest. Our talk before had been limited to pleas for more and desperate moans. This kind of talk was dangerously close to being civil, even to being intimate.

"Famous Harry Potter, the boy who lived." you continue unabashedly, "The boy people couldn't stop talking about, who was doing all these huge and impressive things, who even when people didn't love him anymore, they couldn't stop obsessing over." I don't respond. I can't. What could I say?

"I never stopped to see that these impressive things you were doing were also terrifying and stressful. I guess what I'm trying to say, Potter, is that I'm sorry." I look down at you in shock, my lips parting slightly as if trying to say my utter lack of words at your statement. This is so outside of our usual comfort zone of insults and teasing that I feel like a fish out of water, gasping for breath.

And then you do a beautiful thing: you smirk, and I am so relieved I could kiss you.

"What? Have I made the great Harry Potter speechless?" you say as your grin broadens.

"Of course not. I was just giving you time to expound on that apology. Maybe throw in an apology for some of the nastier arguments and such." I quip back, my relieved smile uncontainable on my face. You laugh, the sound warm and unfamiliar to me, but to my surprise, this new friendly intimacy doesn't scare me. Instead, it just causes my smile to grow.

You smile back at me, and then in one smooth gesture, you're bringing us that one last step into this new world of intimate touches and soft caresses: you kiss me. Your lips are soft and warm against mine, and suddenly, I don't know what I was so scared of. It wasn't the anger we shared that made me feel safe. It was you.

*Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the story! Please review with any comments. Also, I'm taking requests, so if you have any requests for stories, couples etc. please let me know. Thank you!*


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